by thea marie
Miles Christian Mason, May 12,1994- Feb.1, 2004, my nephew (Cerebral Palsy complications)
May 12,1994- Feb.1, 2004
Just nine years old,
He left us today to go to a better place.
Lived all those years here, though,
Inside a twisted little body
That contorted grotesquely
Trying to hold him and his spirit captive.
But it couldn't.
Little jaws clenched so tightly that he couldn’t even chew,
Couldn’t even speak.
But he could smile, big happy smiles and laugh with them.
His clear brown eyes spoke for him.
They, too, could smile.
The doctors said that he couldn’t understand,
Didn’t know. Couldn’t express himself.
I don’t think that was the case.
His mom, dad, brothers, grandparents, and all the rest of us
He was ours, and we knew him.
But he left us today. Quietly went on his way in his sleep.
Left as quietly as he lived, trying not to bother anyone
Any more than he had to.
Leaving us to remember him as he was,
And to see him as he is now:
Strong, tall, handsome.
Laughing that big laugh and calling out to us.
Sitting at the table getting chastised for being greedy.
Making a mess,
Striding along, running fast,
Riding his bike, chasing girls,
Dribbling a basketball, rocketing a football,
Not doing his homework.
Hugging his mother, shaking his father’s hand.
Giving his grandmas and aunties some sugar.
Minding his older brothers,
And sharing secrets with the twin who he leaves to represent him.
You will be missed little boy,
But I’m happy for you.
Go in peace. We will be fine, as will you.
Have my hugs and my kisses ready.
I’ll be looking for you there at the station
Standing to meet me when I get there.